


Possessive Play

by Juli



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2519153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juli/pseuds/Juli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was the hottest thing in the bar and he damn well knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possessive Play

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted October 5, 2006

He was the hottest thing in the bar and he damn well knew it.

Sam watched from a table in the corner, long fingers drumming against its sticky surface. The man he was watching knew how to work an audience, that was for sure. His smile was just short of predatory, his swagger almost aggressive enough to be cocky. Every eye in the place was riveted on him, a brave few forming a court of admirers, male and female alike. Even from across the bar, Sam could feel the draw of those sexy green eyes.

As Sam watched, the man took a drink from his glass of beer and one of his female devotees reached over to playfully wipe away the foam from his upper lip. He could see the man’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he chuckled in response, leaning back against the pool table and away from the woman’s grasp.

Sam was up and moving before he made the conscious decision to get up.

By the time he reached his target, Sam had himself under control and a plan ready. He’d even managed to still the growl threatening to burst from his throat. Sam walked right up to the man’s circle of admirers as though he owned it. Maybe he did. Certainly when he came right up behind the man he’d been observing, clearly entering the other’s personal space, none of the sycophants protested. Perhaps they realized that the killer gleam in Sam’s eye was totally legit.

Sensing Sam looming behind him, the man turned around. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sam beat him to it.

“You new around here?” Sam asked, shoving his hands in his pants pockets.

The man shut his mouth with a snap, those glorious green eyes filled with questions. He took a long look into Sam’s face before answering. “Ye-ah, I guess I am.”

Sam nodded. “I thought maybe you were just passing through.” He nodded at the pool cue the man was holding, but his gaze lingered on the man’s crotch. “You know how to use that thing?”

As anticipated, his comment pricked the other’s interest. The man straightened to his full height, which was still several inches short of Sam’s. “So I’ve been told.”

Taking his hands out of his pockets, Sam leaned forward and rested them on the pool table, one to either side of the other man’s hips. “Prove it.”

The man licked his lips. “I don’t play with someone unless I know their name.”

“Francis.” Sam smiled and stepped back. “And you are?”

Lips pursed, the man thought about it a second before he answered. “Bob.”

The response took Sam by surprise. “Bob?”

“It’s short for Robert Plant,” the man shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“All right, Bob,” Sam retorted. “Rack ‘em up.”

With those words, the game began. Ostensibly, it was a pool game. In reality, it was much more. There was surprisingly little banter, the competitors even going so far as to complement one another’s shots. There was more physical contact, however, than was strictly necessary. The two men brushed against one another as they set up their shots, all tight thighs and even tighter crotches.

They’d been playing for several minutes when Sam decided to up the ante. Setting his pool cue down, he stepped back and slowly removed his hoodie. The t-shirt underneath was a second skin. When he’d dressed that morning, Sam had borrowed one of his brother’s shirts. Dean was a little smaller than Sam and the fit was tight. Judging from the way Bob’s eyes widened when he got a good look at him, it had the desired effect. Sam smiled; victory was sweet.

Victory was also fleeting.

Bob saw Sam’s grin and frowned. With an extra swing to his hips, he sauntered over to where the cue chalk was kept and Sam immediately knew that he was in trouble. Sure enough, agile fingers manipulated the chalk square, taking a wickedly long time to rub it over the tip of the wooden cue. When it was well and truly coated, Bob brought the cue to his mouth, pursing his lips into a perfect bow and blowing oh-so-slowly.

Sam swallowed. He’d always been blessed with an active imagination and, at the moment, he was picturing all sorts of sinful things that mouth was meant to do. He picked up his own cue with renewed determination. The quicker they got this game over with, the sooner they could get on to doing some of those sinful things.

As the game continued, Sam became aware that Bob’s circle of admirers had diminished and, eventually, that it was just the two of them. He smiled in grim satisfaction; sharing had never been his intention.

Finally, it was down to one shot and that shot was Bob’s. Bob bent over the pool table, cue sliding in-between his fingers, jeans pulled deliciously taut over even tighter cheeks. What Sam wanted to do was to take a bit out of that ass. Unfortunately, they were still in a public place, even if the area around the pool table felt like their own little world. Since he couldn’t do what he really wanted, Sam did the next best thing. While Bob was lining up his shot, Sam took advantage of his greater height. He slid up behind Bob and pressed close, letting the other man feel his appreciation.

“Miss this shot and your ass is mine,” Sam growled.

Bob looked over his shoulder at him. Never breaking eye contact, he jerked his pool cue, sending the ball wide and out of control. “Oops.”

Sam straightened and took the cue out of Bob’s fingers. Grabbing the other man by the waist of his jeans, he pulled him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

His companion allowed himself to be steered out of the bar. The manner of their exit caused a number of stares, but Sam didn’t mind and neither apparently did Bob. It was obvious that the other patrons were making some naughty-minded assumptions about what would be going on. As it happened, they were right and as long as no one tried to interfere, Sam couldn’t care less.

Sam marched Bob to the Impala, the dark car looking like a slice of midnight under the harsh parking lot lights. As they approached, Bob whistled.

“Nice car, Francis” he drawled with a smirk. “Somehow I pictured you driving a Yugo or something. Is it yours?”

“No, it doesn’t belong to me.” Sam swung Bob around until he was flush with the car. Leaning close, he nuzzled the other man’s ear. “But the man it belongs to does.”

Bob’s eyes were half-lidded. “That so?”

“Yeah,” Sam licked at Bob’s neck, before nibbling at his Adam’s apple and then pulling away. “You missed your shot, so now something else belongs to me. Get into the car.”

After swallowing heavily, Bob complied, getting into the passenger’s side without another word. Sam took the driver’s seat. Thankfully, the Impala wasn’t a stick shift. He could have one hand on the wheel and have one left over to trail along the inside of Bob’s thigh. His companion shifted in his seat, draping one of his arms along the back of the seat, allowing him to play with Sam’s hair as Sam drove.

It only took a few minutes to find what Sam was looking for. Namely, a bridge underpass, one that was nice and dark. Deserted, even. With a sly grin at Bob, Sam pulled the Impala over and turned the engine off.

“Come here,” Sam ordered as he turned to the other man, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

He didn’t need to ask twice. Bob slid across the seat and their lips met. Sam groaned into the other man’s mouth, his hands coming up to immobilize Bob’s head, allowing him to plunder his partner’s mouth at will. Only when he was good and ready did he pull back.

“I knew you’d taste good, Bob” Sam stated with satisfaction.

“Na-huh,” his lover protested, holding one hand to Sam’s chest. Even in the dim light, Sam could see the seriousness in his face. “I’ll flirt with you under whatever name you like, but this. . . I only do this with Sammy.”

For the first time in their encounter, Sam’s smile was gentle, as was his touch as he brushed a thumb across Dean’s lower lip. He might play the slut, but loyalty was Dean Winchester’s middle name. Of all the things that worried Sam about his brother, Dean straying was not one of them.

“All right,” Sam murmured as he encouraged Dean into the back seat. “But seeing as you like my name so much, I should warn you that I have every intention of making you scream it.”

Which he did. Several times, in fact.

Afterward, Sam collapsed on top of Dean, his brother taking his weight gladly, as he always did. Sam pressed a kiss onto Dean’s sweaty chest; all but purring when Dean’s hand came up to stroke through Sam’s tangled hair. In satiated silence, the two men’s breathing gradually slowed.

“Sam?” Dean eventually asked without slowing the pace of his petting.

“Hmmm. . . .” Sam didn’t feel quite up to verbalizing yet.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything,” Dean continued, oddly hesitant. “God, I’m not complaining, but. . . where did that come from?”

Sam pressed another kiss onto Dean’s skin. “Everybody in that bar wanted you.”

Dean shrugged. “You’re exaggerating, Sammy.” Sam didn’t need to look at his brother to know that Dean was smirking. “Only the ones with good taste did.”

Sighing, Sam lifted his head, resting his chin on Dean’s smooth chest. “They all wanted you, were undressing you with their eyes.”

“You know that an eye full’s all they’re gonna get, right?” Dean asked in concern. “Flirting’s just how I operate; how I get information. I only go home with you.”

“I know,” Sam reassured him, leaning up to snag a quick kiss. “It’s just. . . I wanted to be able to admire you openly like that. Figured it wouldn’t matter since we’d be leaving this crap ass town tomorrow.”

Dean chuckle. “You never were good at sharing your toys.”

“You’re not a toy,” Sam responded seriously. “You know that, right?”

”But apparently I belong to you,” his brother retorted. “Just like the car belongs to me.”

Sam’d had a feeling that particular comment would come up. “You got a problem with that?”

Dena wiggled underneath him, snuggling deeper into the Impala’s upholstery.

“No,” his brother replied in complete contentment. “No problem at all.”

~the end~


End file.
